Into the Night
by The Rooftop Raptor
Summary: Young Bruce Wayne lives in the ashes of the once great city of Gotham. Behind him lays the death of his parents, and ahead of him lays his four most challenging years yet-high school. Following a life changing event, Bruce takes up a new mantle to handle both his past and future, and Gotham may have finally found it's savior in the form of the new hero-Batman.
1. Chapter One: Cold Nights, New Sunrises

It was cold, very cold, and the slight breeze that blew through the air whipped the rain against his skin, chilling over in the night air. Not that he cared too much, as these sorts of things bothered him little. Besides, a cemetery is the place for that kind of cold, dark environment.

Bruce Wayne simply stared at the headstone, an empty feeling in his heart and in his mind. Looking down upon it now he felt nothing rising in his heart, nor the need to say anything. Should he say some words? Why bother, everything that needed to be said had been said years ago, when a small child of no more than eight years old screamed through he teary eyes at the grave, begging for life and praying it was just a nightmare. But it wasn't, it was real, and all that had been said those years ago did not need to be repeated.

Was it despair that rose up in him? No, that had been for the first few nights after the event. What rose in his was something deeper, and far more destructive. It was a rage, but a cool and calm one. It was a rage not at anyone else, but himself. If only he had tried harder that one night, he constantly thought that those in the tomb before him might still be by his side today, and come to see what he had accomplished.

But what had he accomplished since the event? Reflecting on it in the years since, he could honestly say nothing at all. Living off inheritance money made you no great man. Neither did secluding yourself off from the outside world-that only made what society would generally consider freaks. No, there had been nothing important he had done since that event. But what could he do, if he hadn't done what he had done that night. Who was he kidding; this whole thing was a nightmare, one that never ended.

A few feet away, a silent man stood in grave reflection of the boy by the tomb, nothing but compassion in his heart. His cloths would imply that of an educated man, perhaps one who held some high ranking job or was a friend to the Gotham government. Actually, that could be farther from the truth. The man was a servant, a worker-a butler. He served, that's what he did. It was what he had always done, even following the death of his best friend, the boy's father. Now with him gone, he had watched the boy, but he did not consider himself a father. He could never replace that, and he wouldn't even try.

That's not to say he was an irresponsible guardian, in fact he tried to be the opposite. But the hole left in the boy's heart and his could never be filled, and he himself knew that as much as he loved the boy's father that he could never fill that role for the boy. At times he could be a fatherly figure sure, but he could not make up for one of his parents, let alone both.

Now, staring at the boy he had tried so hard to raise following the event, he felt a growing doom. He was losing the boy, who was now becoming more reclusive and rebellious as ever. He blamed himself for almost everything, and would often refuse to do what he was told, which had become very little these days. Not that their relationship was bad-he was still the boys best friend and mentor, and the boy gladly accepted him as head of the house. But the teenage years had worsened the dark nature that had already been present in the young boy. The rebellious nature of puberty combined with the dark void he slipped into after the event caused for a worsening mix. The boy was still mannerly, friendly and polite around him and others, and revered, most of the time, the judgment of the older man. But of course that dark rebel easily rested inside him, and whenever they visited the grave anymore, the man knew that the boy would not want to talk much afterward.

Glancing at his watch, he reluctantly realized it was time to let the boy know they must head home.

Stepping a few feet closer, he addressed the young man in front of him.

"Master Bruce, we must be going if we are to make it home for dinner in time."

The boy stood unmoved, and did not turn his head as he replied, "Alright Alfred. Give me just one more minute."

Obliging his order, Alfred Pennyworth backed away, and let the young Bruce Wayne have his minute. Turning toward the car, he started up the ignition, and reached for the radio to find if any news on the Wayne Enterprises stock had risen that day. However, for fear of interrupting Bruce, he turned the dial down low.

Back at his parent's tomb, young Bruce Wayne knew it was time to say goodbye yet again. He always told himself he needed to say no words, but every time right before he left he found himself saying the same thing, always with the same feeling. Clenching his fists in the dark rain while eyeing the tomb, he let his words roll slowly off his mouth, and the despair rolled off his empty voice.

"I know I say it every time," he said, "But I'm sorry. For that night . . . and for what I am now. You always said I'd be something better, but after what I did, there will be no such hope. I've been lost ever since that night . . . and I know I haven't made you proud, but . . . can I ever? I don't know anymore, heck, I don't really know who I am anymore. If you can hear me . . . all I can say is that I'm sorry. Goodnight mom and dad."

Then he shifted his heals, and waded his way through the rain towards the car, not paying attention to the thunder that roared behind him, nor to the wicked shadows the trees cast in the space around him. In the car Alfred watched him gravely, and as he got into the car the butler said nothing. Starting down the gravel road, the car exited the cemetery, and headed back to the heart of Gotham city.

The city of Gotham was big and imposing, but these days it had become a shadow of its former self. Small ghettos and back lots filled portions of the inner city and several of the skyscrapers and building had begun to decay, and erosion was a top problem in the city. Old roads were filled with potholes and cracks, while the main streets and highways were filled with the blusterous noise of several commuting vehicles restlessly pushing their way to work. Blaring horns and crashes were common every day, and the thick smog of gas filled the lungs of inner city citizens.

These, however were not the reasons why the city was so frowned upon these days in concern to the rest of the world. No the reason was the crime, that and the corruption. Murder rates had soared in the past decade, and burglary was a favorable sense of income for several. Bank robberies happened often, and insurance fraud was stripping many citizens bare. Tax schemes, petty crimes, and abuse were also at play in the city, and these days Gotham had been dubbed, "The blood-pool of Crime".

Gotham had once actually been a well-regarded city, and while not the most perfect place on earth, had once provided many jobs and an overall steady income for its citizens. Police enforcement under Commissioner Howard Dean had been tight, and the mayors of Gotham had maintained fairly good reputations. Active campaigning for the president and several other high up positions happened often once in Gotham, and humanitarian centers could be found at the outskirts of the city.

Yet still Gotham was not perfect then, and it certainly all went downhill with the first of a series of major company buyouts that had occurred. Word of great conditions and rising business in the city of Metropolis caused several companies to shift their heads to that city, and when many of the companies pulled out of Gotham in those days, a scramble of surplus went with it. Many buildings that were in construction were stopped midway through, and unemployment rose. With this came the first big crime Wave in Gotham, and the city was first introduced to the iron will of men like Rupert Thorne.

These new crime lords began to recruit off the unemployed and the bottom of the city dwellers to do their will, and with the sudden death of Commissioner Dean, the police were sent into array after their headquarters were firebombed. Murder rates rose even more, and the city began to decay. Wayne Enterprises, one of Gotham's most productive and local companies, was soon struck into array when Bruce's father was forced to split the company into a partnership with the greedy Derek Powers, who was to be succeeded by his son, Paxton.

The split in the company caused two major divisions to form, with one under the Wayne set of values, and another under the values of the Power's. Longtime member and trusted friend Lucius Fox had told the Wayne's that the split of the company would cause heavy damages to their logistics and technological branches, and that if the split was to fall through that the shareholders and investors would take the side of the Power's, who were quickly rising in the Gotham market.

While this was happening the crime rates were still rising, and the destruction of one of Gotham's power plants quickly contaminated a small portion of the city, which was to be sealed off for no one to enter. Unfortunately, this area would become a hangout for crime, and besides the powers of Thorne and company, Jack Napier and his band of bandits frequented the area.

Every day the situation got worse, and slowly public support for the city vanished. No more were their campaign, rallies, or parades. Two of their professional sports team failed to generate revenue, and another quickly pulled out to locate their franchise in a safer city. The general media shied away from the subject of Gotham, and their major companies remaining were generally kept outside the loop in many global business ventures.

This led Gotham to become a truly dark place, and while high society and many fine folks still lived in the city, the dark cloud of crime, greed, and deceit showered over it. And reflecting on it now, Bruce Wayne knew it had turned into the complete opposite of what his parents had dreamed of it.

They had always been proud of their city, perhaps even more than the Hoosiers were of the state of Indiana. And the main premise of Wayne Enterprises was to build up not only the city, but the world, but then again, Bruce reflected, so many other companies claimed the same. Now the city was nothing more than the bottom line from any joke for the high society of any other large city.

This thought continued to permeate in his mind when they reached Stately Wayne Manor, and Bruce said nothing as Alfred opened his door on the car. Slowly going up the steps, he nodded to Alfred in the direction of his room. At this Alfred hesitated.

"Master Bruce, you really should have something to eat. You'll want all your energy before your first day of high school tomorrow."

"No Alfred, I don't want anything to eat, nor will I be going to any school tomorrow. Wayne Enterprises has a major deal going through, and if I am to inherit the company I must attend it."

"Master Bruce, you know that in order to at least succeed in the company you must first pass high school. A high school education is the least requirement you will need to run the enterprise. You have not eaten all day, and I'll be darned if you starve yourself before this day."

Bruce did not respond, but scowled down at Alfred. Within his anger was rising, but he restrained himself in fear of lashing out at Alfred. Instead, he simply turned and completely walked up the steps, not even glancing back at Alfred. He was about to reach for his bedroom door when a sharp call come from down the steps.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called loudly.

Bruce knew he was losing it, and he face was growing redder by the second.

"What Alfred?" He gritted out through his teeth.

"If you don't want to eat, fine then, but believe me sir I will take you to that school. The Wayne's prided themselves on their upbringing and education, and you will get nowhere in the company or life if you simply hide from your duty now."

"And what is my duty Alfred? To go to school? Please! We both know that I'll just be looked down on as the moody rich boy, and you know that my experience is with business executives, not with the up and coming of this miserable city! There is no point when there is a company to run!

"I don't belong their Alfred, especially in a public school. Believe me I'm not insulting it here in saying that that's not my place. Whatever the Wayne's prided on education died the night that they buried my parents! There is work to do in this city Alfred, and I am not about to blow my chance to change things when this city is facing its darkest times!

"Sure education is great, and as the head of Wayne Enterprises I will make it better in this city, but I have no use for it anymore! I will be the face of this company, I'm a Wayne 'Danget!"

Alfred stared up at Bruce, knowing how much steam he was blowing off at the moment. He did not speak for a moment, and then in a low droll asked.

"Master Bruce, why is it so important to run the company now? Why can't at least four more years of schooling benefit you?"

The quietness and sincerity of Alfred stopped Bruce, and in a mere second all his anger left him. His response was just as quiet as Alfred's question.

"Alfred if I don't run this company now who will? Let the Powers take it? My father said there was so much to the Wayne legacy, and that the company could succeed under the right head. Sure, he told me I could be whatever I want, but I always knew he was prepping me for the company. The least I can do for them now is run it the way they wanted it to be. No more time can be wasted, and I cannot fail them any more by ignoring the problems at hand! This company is all I have left of them!"

"So," Alfred said with sorrow, "This is really about your parents again. I . . . I thought that maybe you were finally putting the guilt behind you."

"You mean the therapy?" Bruce said sarcastically, "Dr. Lindy is a nice woman but she couldn't do a thing."

"Master Bruce, I know we have talked this over so many times," Alfred said, a deep sadness rising from his now croaky voice, "But why can't you understand that it was not your fault. You didn't kill your parents."

"Alfred, please, let's just not talk about that. And you know I don't like bringing up my parents."

"But sir I know their heart would break if they saw what you become. You seclude yourself unless you're at a gathering or ball, and you never have fun at those. You visit their grave every time and repeatedly apologize, as if they wouldn't forgive you. You talk to almost no one outside the company, and your friends are far too few in between. I heard you cry for those first few years after their death, and I heard your prayers.

"I can still see that small child crying in that room as the lightning struck outside, and I heard the moans in your dreams. We know that they cannot be brought back, and we certainly cannot change all that has happened since. But Master Bruce you must know that this is not the way that you should carry on their legacy. Be the man they wanted you to be, a fine, gentle, and peace loving man who had great things in store for him, and one who would make them proud. You can . . ."

"I let them down!" Bruce screamed to interrupt him.

"Master Bruce you . . ."

"No Alfred! If it were not for my actions that night, they would still be there, I may not have pulled the trigger but I helped rob the world of two outstanding humans that day! And since them what have I become? I become a sad, sorry, rebel, who won't even listen to the one friend he has left, and that's you Alfred! I'm a freaking mess! I cannot do anything right with my life, and I have continued to plague my parents name since their death! And you know what? I'm too stubborn to change that! And that's where the company comes in! The last thing I need is to be put with a bunch of kids my age who are searching for their future while I can't come out of my past."

"Master Bruce, that's exactly why you need this. We were too late to get you to the private school, so maybe this will be good for you. So many of Gotham's different background will be there, and it will give you the chance to meet people who may be able to help you through this. You know I will always be here for you sir, but you need more than me.

"No doubt it will be tough, and you will face tough challenges sure. But it will help you grow up, and despite what you think a grownup must run the company. I'm not saying that you can't be mature; actually you have proven to be a far better man than half the buffoons running around the parties and meeting we always go to. This is your chance to get out of the past, and pave the future that you parents would have wanted out of you."

"I can do that through the company." Bruce responded weakly, as if to question if he was right.

"Yes, but only later. Bruce you need to go through this first. Please just try schooling, for just these four years. Then I will no longer have anything over you, and you can make your own choice over the company then."

Bruce was very quiet now, not even making so much as a move. He did not want to go to the school, but maybe Alfred had somewhat of a point."

With that, he opened his door and placed his foot in when he heard Alfred say one final thing.

"Bruce,"

That made Bruce stop still, as it was extremely rare for Alfred to ever call him by just his first name.

"I . . . I'll do whatever I can to be the people your parents needed me to be for you. We know I will never replace them, but I have tried so hard these years to do things right and you have mostly agreed with my judgment. If you are to follow no other rules from me Bruce, please follow this one. Try high school now and leave the company for later.

Perhaps you won't be the best fit, or the most social. That's fine. The friends you do make will respect you for who you are and will make you a better person if you make the right choices. I . . . know we have had so many talks about your parents and that night, and no doubt we will have many others, but Bruce, please promise me you will consider what they would think of you and high school. What would they want you to do?"

Then Alfred turned and headed for the study, while Bruce returned to his room. Inside it was dark and forbidding, but with the flick of the light he studied it for a few seconds. The bed was a king mattress, outfitted with a finely carved wood frame, and a small canopy hung over it. The painting of the room was a very light tan brown, and the bookshelves were lined with both classic works and business books, along with a few family albums. The closet was large and spacious, but Bruce hardly ever used the multitude of cloths in it, unless for a special event. And by the window were a mural and several paintings, with a small chandelier as a light above the room.

Just as soon as he had studied them had he forgotten them, flicking off the light and heading for his bed. Climbing into the cover still wearing his rain dotted cloths, Bruce closed his eyes and shivered as he tried to think. Yet all he could think of was the despair he had released to Alfred just a few minutes ago. He opened his eyes to stare out the window, only to see that the rain had turned into a torrential storm, and it only ceased to further his depression.

"What can I do in high school?" he spoke aloud to no one at all.

Upon receiving no answer, he stared up at the canopy above his bed, trying to image what his parents would think. Think of all he could change within Wayne Enterprises right now! He could get rid of the Powers, and he could begin with new roundtable talks for new city clinic plans. He could do these things to restore the company; he could make the Wayne's great again through their company. He could do something to make his parents be at least . . . slightly proud . . . of him.

Pride. Honor. Legacy. Respect. Life . . . all the things that he had destroyed that night, that awful night. His thought began to fade to that horrid night, but he screamed in defiance.

"No! I'm never returning to that place again!"

As he said it, he flung his pillow to the other side of the room, and suddenly a crash of thunder from outside his window caused his heart beat to stop. Suddenly the shadows from the trees outside began to cast evil-looking shapes against the walls of his room. He thought he heard a whispering in the wind, and suddenly his heart began to pound faster.

The room suddenly blurred, and Bruce stared around the room as if drunk. The flashes from outside the window now banged around in his head, and the whispering increases. Now his heart began to pound even faster, and his eyes misted over into darkness. Bruce shivered in a terrified state, wondering what was going on. He panicked, and suddenly everything went black, and the thud of his heart began to slow down to a normal place, and it grew quiet, so very quiet . . .

Bruce Wayne did not know where he was when he seemed to regain consciousness, or was it just a dream? He did not know for sure, but then he realized he knew where he was . . . An Opera Theatre, in Gotham, years ago. With a sudden chill Bruce realized where he was. This had to be a dream, he thought, but he could not escape it. Instead, he watched as what appeared to be a younger form of him begging his parents to leave the theatre.

The act appeared to be dragging on, and even Martha Wayne had seemed to notice that the audience was begging to fan out. The play had been held at the Monarch Theatre by an amateur group, who had performed quite well for the evening. But their rookie statues meant only a late show, so by the time it reached eleven thirty at night, many were beginning to leave as the last act came to a close.

Young Bruce Wayne, an anxious child in an adult opera, was eager to go, and Martha had reluctantly requested that they leave. Upon leaving the theatre, Bruce had plans of his own.

"Let's not take the cab dad! Benson showed me a quicker way home through the alleys yesterday."

"Have you been hanging around him again Bruce?" Thomas asked with a yawn, "I've told you to be wary of that boy. He is known to be a trouble maker."

"Bruce, I think it would be best if we stayed with a cab. Especially with Alfred gone for the week, it would just be easier to pay for a ride." Martha said.

"Fine by you, but I'm taking the alley," Bruce stated proudly, and as he said it he darted away from his parents and into the alley.

"Bruce!" Both his parents called out.

"Common dad! Try and catch me. We've been to that boring old opera all night, and I want to try out this chute Benson told me about."

"Bruce, you're misbehaving!" His father shouted.

"Please Bruce, you know it's very dangerous," His mother said running after him.

But Bruce was not listening; instead he was running, enjoying the cool rush of the night breeze on his face as he whipped by the cans and ladders lining the alley. Sighting the path to the chute he wanted to take, Bruce planted one foot firmly on the ladder leading to it, and began to heave himself up its rusty handles when a cold voice from behind stopped him still.

"Well, look at the young adventurer here. Looking for some treasure kid?"

Bruce Wayne instantly stopped cold. A dark silhouette was outlined against the shadow of the buildings, and the voice had a sinister sound that made very hair on Bruce's body stand up. He thought he caught the gleam of a crooked smile, and he could have sworn he saw something glimmer that was tucked in the silhouette's waistband.

Bruce was beginning to get scared, and he saw the figure advance a few steps forward. A rotten stench that could have only come from the man's breath faintly touched his skin. The sensation seemed to creep up on Bruce, as if suffocating his air. There seemed to be a confidence about the figure, one brought upon by years of fear and power.

Instantly he knew he did not want to reply to the figure. His parents had warned him about these situations, and he was tempted to scream and run, but the closeness of the figure warned him against screaming. His parents would find him here anyway if he could stall. Then the voice came again.

"I said are you looking for treasure kid? No? Then perhaps you already have some, and Joe Chill has himself a thing for treasure. You know, fancy jewels, gold, heck even a stack of greenbacks. What do you say kid? Want to donate to the cause?"

"Bruce! Are you back there?" That was the call of his mother.

"Bruce! Come out now! Were worried, get out now!" His father roared.

Upon seeing their outlines reach the area where he was, Bruce began to scream, but was cut off by a sharp nudge into his ribs. This caused him to double over, and then a massive arm seized itself around his neck.

"Bruce, where . . ." His mother's call was cut off when she spotted the figure that held hold of her son. Thomas was not far behind.

"Bruce! What are you doing you . . ." Her mother began to shout before the glint of a revolver caught her eyes.

Thomas gasped behind her, and Bruce shivered nervously. The figure then stepped into the dim light before them, with its arm firmly on Bruce's neck. When in the light the figure was revealed to be an unruly looking man with a thin mustache and cruel eyes. His teeth were yellow and stained with quid from the chew he obviously used. A small cap covered his graying hair, and the cloths, while certainly not rags, were dirty and unkempt.

Thomas Wayne knew who this was, and it sickened him to see that he had his son. This was Joe Chill, the notorious hit man and gunslinger for the highest bidder in Gotham. Unkempt he may look, but he had a cruel mind and a fast hand, with was the reason for why he had the quickest draw in all of Gotham. Knives, blunt tools, and arson were also favorites of his, and Thomas knew that he would stop nothing short of killing all of them.

"Now don't you worry none. Your son here is in good hands. I was just asking him if he had some treasure for old Joe Chill. But now I see-he's a Wayne! Well now, I'm a real fan of the Wayne's, and for all those years of support, I think I deserve a little bit of a pay. What do you say Mr. Wayne? You willin' to give some kind charity to an old boy like me?"

"Martha, be calm. Bruce you need to stay calm focus, and do what he says." Thomas said with anger rising within him.

"Well good then. How about we start with them nice pearls around your wife's neck?"

With trembling fingers, Martha fumbled to get the necklace off, throwing on the ground near Chill's feet. Then, at Chills request, they began to empty their wallet and purse.

"Good now, right good. I sure do humble a good ol' donation. I think I've gotten about all I need. Although, who to say their ain't some more in you banks . . ." Chill said with a devilish smile spreading across his face.

"You can't be serious! We gave you what we had! Release our son!" Thomas demanded.

All the while this had been happening, Bruce had been scared, but planning. He did not know if Chill would kill them, but somehow he had to escape. Chill would not let him go until he had extracted everything out of his parents, so he must break free so that he had no hostage. But wait! He then remembered that Chill still had the gun pointed at them. If he could somehow work the gun towards him and escape, he could maybe take Joe out and they could flee.

"Those banks now, I think . . ." Chill started, and when he did, he gestured with the gun towards a random wall, and Bruce saw his chance. Flinging his head back with all his power, he bit the arm that was one him, and turned around to reach for the gun.

Chill was startled by the bite, but quickly reacted. Swinging his bitten arm towards Bruce, he sent the boy sprawling across the alley. Martha screamed and ran toward her son, and Chill enraged at Bruce pointed his gun to fire. As is spouted flame the bullet leaped within the revolver and went straight towards where Bruce was, and in a horrific instant caught Martha as she was rushing towards Bruce.

She let out a near silent scream, and fell down near Bruce. Wide eyed and crying, Bruce screamed and rushed Chill, but a push of Chill's arm shoved him back against the trash cans. Thomas ran towards his wife, and knelt down beside her, all the while trying to search out Bruce in the dim lights.

As Bruce got knocked into the trash cans, his head seemed as if it exploded, and blurs overtook him. He then made out the figures of Chill and his father, and the downed body of his mother. He could not hear much, and the tears streaming from his eyes made the blurs worse. He was weeping now, rocking to try and move, but for some reason could not, and pain went through his body.

He saw as Chill approached Thomas, and then he spoke to him in a low voice. Bruce could barely make out what was said, and the weeping of Thomas made it even harder when combined with his own. He hardly caught the few of the words out of Chill's final words only catching a few phrases throughout.

" . . . Send Regards to her Mr. Wayne . . . remember that . . . boy over there . . ."

Bruce then saw a shock and anger come to Thomas's body, and something like horror came to his eyes. He then lunged at Chill and yelled, "Bruce run! Remember who you can trust!"

But Bruce could not move, and he stood there in horror as another shot exited Chill's revolver right into the body of Thomas Wayne. Then his father slumped on top of his mother, and Bruce screamed as he never did before or ever would again. Now the movement returned, and he rushed up to the bodies.

"I don't like do'in that kid. But you made your move. I was 'gonna let them live, but you made the wrong move-made me nervous. Could have happened to anyone. I best be going now, and I'll take these riches to good hands. Sorry kid."

Taking up the riches, Chill turned and began to exit the alley, behind him kneeled a crying child who wanted to hate, to crush, to hurt Chill . . . but all he could do was cry, and cry he did, and scream into what surrounded him. At the end of the alley Chill looked back, and said one final thing.

"They would've have lived kid. But you made that move . . . You made that move."

With that he turned on his heel and moved away quickly, leaving a broken Bruce Wayne alone in the ally with the remains of the people who meant everything to them.

Then there was a sharp sensation, and Bruce Wayne woke up in his bed sweating. He immediately shot out of the covers, and threw his head in his hands. He had relived it, that awful night, for what must have been the tenth time. It was not just a nightmare, it was a memory, and whenever he woke up he felt defeated, scared, lost, and hurt.

The tears didn't really come anymore. Now all that was left was a stern face that was twisted with anguish. Years ago he may have wondered why, but know he knew better not to consider that. His parents had died that night because of him, even Chill had told him. He never told anyone of how they were murdered, except for Alfred, and that was only once. Or better, or in Bruce's case for worse, the public only knew that a notorious criminal known as Joe Chill had murdered the Wayne's-no one documented Bruce's actions.

Alfred had told him that the actions that Bruce tried that night were brave and shown the character his parents had put in him to act in deadly situations. If anything the public should hear and be proud that this bot wanted to face Chill. Alfred also reminded him-Joe Chill pulled the trigger. But that never did much for Bruce.

Now, sprawled on his floor with his head still in his hands, he slammed his fists down hard into the ground, multiple times. The pounding got louder with the rage as it built up inside Bruce, and the shadows from the outside seemed to recede, as somewhere in the distance the sun barely broke the plane of sight. The rain was gone, but the blackness lingered in the room.

The sheets from Bruce's bed were on the floor, and the remnants of the rain glimmered off of his window, giving a distorted effect to the room. Besides the pounding of Bruce's fists, there was no other sound in the room, that us until the door to Bruce's bedroom cracked open.

"Did it happen again Master Bruce?" Alfred asked quietly.

"Yes, yeah it happened again."

"Are you alright?" Alfred asked simply.

"Does it look the part?" Bruce asked bitterly.

"No, you don't. I'd say something Bruce, I really would, but I have tried everything. What can I say to help you through the nightmares?"

"You can't console me Alfred, but I thank you for trying. All you can do now is remind me of what I did wrong that night, of the fallout I've caused. We've been over this-Chill might have pulled the trigger, but that night my parents died because of me. I've done nothing since then and become an outcast who can't see much happiness in life. If I can take over the family business I can at least make everyone else life better, because mine is already ruined. So why do I even bother talking about this awful memory anymore? Why don't I just skip high school? Why do we even debate it? Shouldn't I just forget whatever crap lies ahead of me and try to at least save someone's life, and not doom the things everyone else hold dear? Could I have been any more of a failure?"

It was something that had crossed Alfred's mind before, but up until now he had pushed it away. He was always soft and comforting, only stern when need be, which was more often in Bruce's teenage years. But now he realized that there was not just "soft-talking" Bruce out of this one. He never took just soft talk. Bruce was one of reality, hardened realism, and an already dark view on life. It was risky, and something he would normally never do or even consider thinking, but this was a drastic measure.

"Bruce Wayne!" He yelled in a loud voice, pushing him against his bedroom wall.

"Alfred how dare you, get . . ." Bruce started to yell, but Alfred's harsh and hardened words cut him off.

"Listen to me young man! I will no longer take that rubbish from you anymore. If you really feel that way about yourself and believe there is nothing to redeem that, then you had better just walk into to that company and out of this house forever. You have it all wrong Bruce, all wrong! You have shamed your parents, but not because some actions you did on the nights of their deaths, but for all you have become afterwards! You have totally receded from the world, and you hardly do anything for yourself anymore!

"If you really want to run Wayne Enterprises fine, but if you go in now you will be eaten alive by the Powers and their associates! You have practically no allies except me and a few others, and you experience with the matters they company covers is strong for your age and situation, but far minimal compared to its current heads. They will own you Master Wayne. I have seen them personally doom the careers of young hopefuls, and some would like nothing more than to get the last of the Wayne's out of their original company.

"Bruce, everyone in your family for the last few generations attended some form of high school, and even went on to better careers beyond. You should honor your parents with the company yes, but what's more you should make sure you are fully prepared for that first.

"As for the nightmares, I cannot promise to wish them away but 'dangget Bruce if you started to cheer up and stop blaming yourself for what happened that night I can promise you your dreams and life will improve. I know that that event will stick with us all of our lives, but we have to move on and preserve what we can give to the world. Bruce I know you want to give through the company in honor of you parents but start off with the small things first. Work your way through high school, and anymore education if necessary, and then take on Wayne Enterprises. I promise I will stand by you if I'm still around that day, but as your mentor and guardian I can tell you are honestly not ready for the next step, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

"If you have to blame yourself for what happened that night then fine, blame yourself. But don't use that to further your depression, use it to fuel your journey to your future-promise your parents you will make good of the name Bruce Wayne! Honor them as they should!"

And then, Alfred stopped, unbelieving that he had spoken so hard to Bruce, let alone that he had him against the wall. Bruce too was equally shocked, and felt his body quiver at Alfred's hold on him. He knew now that Alfred was not just saying things-he was totally dead serious. And he was being deep, which affected Bruce. Slowly, he looked right into the eyes of Alfred, and within him something shriveled up, and he looked in awe at Alfred.

"You're . . . you're right Alfred. But I just can't . . . how can I redeem myself?"

"Master Bruce, it's okay to struggle, it's okay to wonder to question, to wonder why, there is a time for everything-time for anger, regret, sorrow, and even tears. But there are times for joy too, and times for happiness, love and peace. You have too few of those lately, and it's time you turn this around." Alfred said in a gentle voice.

Bruce couldn't cry, not anymore these days, but that did not stop the single tear from rolling down his pale face. As it fell his shoulders slouched, and he put his head into Alfred's chest and gave a deep sign. His body continued to shudder, and Alfred moved his arms to his shoulders to comfort him.

"Master Bruce you have all the qualities to turn out to be a fine man, and I know that you have done things in these recent years, even in your sorrow, to make them proud. You are a fine man at the galas and parties we attend, and you have been a constant supporter at charity events. You have used your money to finance young projects, and I have never seen you greedy. And when you do talk to people you are nothing but fair, nice, and composed-all the head of a company should be. You have all the materials there right at your hand for success in Wayne Enterprises-you can succeed, and you will." Alfred said to console him.

"So I take it that means skipping high school is not an option?" Bruce said with a hint of humor in his voice.

"Far from an option. You're going to high school Bruce." Alfred said with a small smile.

Bruce then lifted his head from Alfred's chest, and a faint smile came to his eyes and his lips.

"Alright Alfred, I'll attend high school. You have never failed me with your judgment before-if you really think that high school will help me, I'll do it."

"More than that Bruce. I want you to do more in high school and your community. Use your skills to better those around you-your fellow students, faculty, and even the citizens of Gotham. It's no surprise our economy has gone to the slums lately, and this city could certainly use some cleaning up. Whatever your gift is to Gotham and the world Bruce, use it- that's what your parents wanted."

"You really think I can do it Alfred? It's not like I was exactly the most popular kid any time in my previous schooling, and I'm a wealthy kid going to a public school." Bruce responded weakly.

"Then you have to make connections. Just like clients in a company, one has to gain not allies, but friends in schooling. You need to branch out and find your group. It never hurts to be friendly."

Bruce considered that for a moment, and then looked out his window. The sun that was beginning to rise when he first woke up was now begging to light up the land around Wayne Manor. It blossomed in orange and tropical red, casting an odd hue against the large willow trees that covered his window. Further on, beyond the valley on which Wayne Manor set was Gotham city, which now had its dark peaks and towers covered in the red-orange glow. It seemed as if the tops of the building were shining bright lights, zooming out into the horizon for all to see.

Staring at it, Bruce couldn't help but almost chuckle at how ironic it was-a dark and storming night accompanying a bad dream leading to an amazing sunrise to start a bright new day. It was too cliché for Bruce, but it did put some confidence in his heart and mind. His father after all had always championed a fresh start. It reminded Bruce of a saying his father always said about second chances.

"Second chances, son, are like the rising sun. That in itself is a powerful image. So powerful, in fact, that the country of Japan made their flag after it. But the rising sun symbolizes a new start, the dawn of the past day lost within the night and a new light shining in the sky. It's like having another shot at it. You can put the past behind you to move on-that's what the night is for-to transition to a better state of being.

"That is why I view the rising son as such a miracle-it's completes the new start, if one chooses to use it. Of course in life there are only so many sunrises before past mistake can catch up, so do not just think that you can always start over to forget mistakes-you can't. But should you ever need healing and a sense of hope, remember the importance of the night that is completed when the sunrise comes-it's a chance to rid away evil and restore good. Kind of a cheesy saying, isn't it son? But hey, it works for me."

Oddly enough, it did work for him, at least now. Why not try out a few more years of schooling? It could to nothing but help in in his attempt to runt the family business, and Alfred was clearly dead set on getting him to it. He had always known that both his parents had wanted it for him, but all these years, particularly after middle school; he was dead set against it. Now it was time to face that it was in his best options to attend high school and at public school none the less.

"Alfred, you know that this won't be easy, and in my condition, it may be incredibly hard . . ." Bruce started before Alfred cut him off.

"Master Bruce, and I mean this in a sincere way, nearly your entire life has been a challenge. Sure you were born to a rich family but that was in a failing city, hard times, and economic stress. You have had massive responsibilities placed onto you with your future, more than just the death of your parents, but also running a major company and dealing with Gotham as a whole. You have had more stress and responsibilities placed on your shoulders than anyone your age ever should, and believe me you have handled it better than a lot of people would, contrary to what you might believe."

Again Bruce was silent. What more could he say? Alfred had made every best point in his intention to make sure that Bruce went to high school, and no matter what he said Alfred would not be dissuade. Even Bruce was now beginning to see some of the benefits to high school. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all.

"Alright then Alfred, looks like I'm going to high school." Bruce said.

"I'll go start something to eat, and you get ready." Alfred responded.

Ten minutes later, Bruce took one final look in the mirror at himself before heading down the steps. Not wanting to stand out too much on his first day he wore a collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sporting a black undershirt. His Jeans were pressed and neat, with no holes to be found, and held together by a nice leather belt. A family locket hung around his neck and underneath his undershirt, while on his wrist was his father's old watch, which by the standards of modern Gotham was still considered quite fine.

Glancing in the mirror, he noticed the partially slicked hair, and the deep hazel eyes, and the firm set chin-nearly the spitting image of what his parents were. Looking in the mirror now, he did see them in him, both Thomas and Martha. And when he recognized this, he ran his hand through his hair and seemed to speak to no one in particular.

"Well, I hope I can make you both proud today . . . I know that, well, there's a lot I have to atone for, and I will never forgive myself for that night, but Alfred had a point, and despite my reservations I know you both would agree with him.

"It's quite something that I look like you, though I have done nothing to continue your good legacy, but, hey,  
maybe high school can change that . . . I don't know, maybe it's just, maybe . . . Ugh!"

Bruce was out of words to say, and that angered him. Maybe no more was needed to be said-he did after all know that deep down his parents would approve. But what he did in these next four years, heck even this next year, could make or break him. And Alfred was right-this was the perfect barometer to see how well Bruce could run the company when he got older.

He could do nothing more for his parents right now than to take the next step in his life in the right direction, and the more he did that the less he hurt himself and the less stress he put on Alfred.

"Alfred," Bruce said with a chuckle, "Bless his heart. Who knows where I'd be lost or even buried today were it not for him?"

Turning back to the mirror one last time, he said, "You know guys, you really couldn't have picked anyone batter to guide me, even if he is a major pain to me at times with his ways. That's one heck of a man you chose, but then again, you always were a good judge of character . . . hope I can be the same."

Turning from the mirror, Bruce headed for his door opening it, he heard to ring of the doorbell that of an old fashioned house ring. Closing his door behind him Bruce walked to the middle of the stairway, until suddenly he lifted himself up onto the railing and slid the rest of the way down. Opening the door, Bruce was greeted to the cheerful face of the local mailman, Winston.

"Top of the Morning Sir Bruce," He said with a yawn, "Have me here a package for 'ya. It wouldn't fit in the mail box."

"A Package Winston? I don't recall Alfred or I ordering one." Bruce responded questioningly.

"Aye, it seems that everyone in town be getting one. Couldn't tell you why, but I think it'd have something to do with the recent buyout of Stork Facilities."

Bruce considered that for a moment. Stork Facilities was a down in the dump company owned by the aging Albert Stork. Recent news had made it so that Patton Isley, lead scientist and head of the company Nano-Corp, was making offers to buy out Stork. Patton company focused on plant development and testing, and considering that Stork facilities has access to more than enough acres of forest and garden zones, it was no wonder the buyout was occurring.

"So this is something from the Isley's you say? What did everyone in Gotham get a package?" Bruce asked.

"Seems so. 'Tis a bit strange when you think of it that way. Perhaps it be some new product their testing. Anyway I better be off. Oh and by the way Bruce, I heerd' you have school starting today. Best of luck to 'ya." Winston said with the tip of his hat.

As Bruce watched him go, he couldn't help but wonder about the package. The Isley family were somewhat know to him, and he particularly remembered Patton's daughter Pamela from a few galas, for she was considered one of Gotham's brightest young minds, and she was just around Bruce's age.

After staring at it for a few seconds however, he merely shrugged and walked off towards the kitchen. It would be best to open it some other time. Besides, today was going to be hard enough as it was already for Bruce-he did not need to add whatever was in that package to it.

In the kitchen he found Alfred laying out a plate of food for him. Slowly, Bruce made his way to the table, and just stared at what was in front of him.

"Not a fan of today meal Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.

"Ugh . . . I'm just getting nervous, that all." Bruce said with a hint of anger.

"About Schooling?" Alfred asked.

"Yes, but it will be okay, I have to at least, well, give it some chance." Replied Bruce.

"A start's a start Master Bruce. I'd be worried if you were not nervous, now come along. Finish your food and I'll ready the car. You do have supplies for today right.

"Um, no. Remember Alfred until last night I was dead convinced on not going to school, so no, I really don't have anything." Bruce said with a small smile.

"Of all the . . ." Alfred mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen. Bruce gave a small laugh as he watched Alfred grumble off. Turning his attention back to high school, Bruce began to plan things out in his head. Always being one to set plans for the future, he decided to set some now. Being a total reserve there wouldn't do him any good, yet he never wanted to be the center of attention of the source of Gossip, though, he reflected, that all would be part of being the head at Wayne Enterprises.

Instead he must focus on making a few good friends, and be sure to make no enemies. Bruce had no idea what to expect in terms of sentiment. Would they oppose a wealthy kid attending their school? Or would they just consider it nothing. He managed to keep around a nice crowd in middle school, but that had been in the far off Gotham Academy, which had a small attendance made up of most of Gotham's elite. Not that it was a bad school, by any means it was top notch teaching and the students were rather nice.

There would be no prediction however, for what happened at his new high school. Central Gotham Tech, or as many called it CGT High, was composed of most of the heart of inner city Gotham, along with many of the suburbs and many provinces now too far off. It had been established in the height of Gotham's popularity, and the old building was once considered one of the city's finest structures. The attendance now was considerably large, and Bruce was not too worried about fitting as much as he was standing out.

Some of Gotham's finest had come out of that school however, including many of Wayne Enterprises finest employees, and several as well from the Powers branch. Perhaps if it provided the right tools for them to succeed, then it would for him as well. But he would need help from friends, and connections.

Come to think of it, he wondered to himself, would he know anyone at CGT High? He could count out some childhood friends or acquaintances he knew today, but he was unsure if they would be there, but only time would tell. Turning it over in his mind some more, he noticed Alfred walk into the room, carrying an old backpack with a few school essentials.

"This will have to do Master Bruce," Alfred said, "It was all I could find."

"It will do Alfred," Responded Bruce.

"Shall we go then?" Alfred asked as he stepped towards the main door.

Bruce picked up the backpack left for him and followed him towards the door, but stopped when he noticed that Alfred was paused looking at the package.

"Master Bruce, where did this package come from?" He asked.

"Supposedly it's from the Isley's, after their buyout of Albert Stork. Winston told me that everyone around Gotham was getting them." Bruce responded.

"That's rather odd. I heard that the buyout was not to take place for at least another week. Perhaps it came early. Well, ever the less, we should get you off to school."

"Oh this is going to be just plain fun," Bruce said as he rolled his eyes.

"Well, if there was one trait that you didn't get from your parents, it was their enthusiasm for learning." Alfred commented.

"Whatever Alfred. I'd said I go to school, and no doubt it will have its benefits. But believe me I'm not the most jumping for joy over it."

"I know Master Bruce," Alfred commented, "And you know what, I wouldn't have it any other way for you."

The quick but sincere comeback made Bruce give a small smile, and what Alfred saw in that smile was s short slimmer of hope. Granted it was very short, but Alfred could actually see some confidence rising in young Bruce. That hope is what he strived to see every day, and with every day that drew on past the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Alfred hoped that he could again see Bruce have the joy he had before they were gone.

Granted today it was only a smile, but Alfred had learned over the years that it's the small victories that counted. Every step he could make in progressing Bruce towards a happier lifestyle, or at least as happy as was possible for Bruce was a milestone for Alfred.

Turning this over in his mind some more, Alfred turned the ignition and the car started up. Bruce was starting to get into the back seat when the call of Alfred stopped him.

"Master Bruce, how about we change it up for the day. You always ride back, and now with you entering high school and soon end up driving, you should get used to riding in the front seat. What do the kids call it these days-'riding shotgun?'"

Bruce only chuckled and obliged Alfred's idea. Rolling down the windows, he felt the rush or the wind against his face as they moved towards one of the Gotham highways. All around him were blaring cars, blinking lights, road construction signs, and the sound of the cars radio, playing the classic oldies that Alfred liked so much. For some it might appear hectic and wild, but for Bruce it was like every other day in Gotham City, and just the same way his parents had always seen it.

Well, he certainly would not be hearing the last of his parents, but Bruce knew it would do him no good going into the school all depressed over them. Why not cheer up? Why not show some enthusiasm as Alfred had suggested. Well, Bruce reflected dryly, he would never be truly enthusiastic, but he could at least try and be himself. Granted he would not receive a total confidence booster, but he needed some cheering up right now anyway.

As they passed over one of the many bridges on Gotham's highways, Bruce spoke silently to himself so that Alfred couldn't here, looking out at the Gotham skyline.

"This had better work out . . . Please, let it work out not for me . . . but for them to be proud of me. Just please let it work . . ."

Then his words trailed off into nothingness, and all too soon he realized they were pulling up to CGT High. It was time, this Bruce knew, it was time.

**Quick Update: Sorry realized I wrote something wrote a name wrong in this chapter. Now it's fixed and correct.**


	2. Chapter Two: A Challenge Begins

Alfred had dropped him off about a block away from the school due to parking, so as Bruce approached it, he quickly got caught up in the rush of several other students flooding to the school. Many were there, from all different backgrounds and all different years of high school.

Bruce himself was not what many considered a people's person, but he did not fear the crowd or large gatherings. The many events and parties from Wayne Enterprises ensured that he knew not only how to be around a large crowd, but how to handle one as well if necessary.

Bruce said nothing, however, as he shifted his way through the crowd to the front doors of CGT High. He did not know if he would attract any attention, and he was hoping he wouldn't, so he kept a low profile. As he walked up the steps towards the doors, he noticed one boy trip on the steps and fall over. Many around snickered and Bruce saw the boy give a worried smile and try to laugh it out to cover his nervousness.

Although he wanted to keep a low profile, Bruce none the less went over to help the boy recover his things. As he did so, a strapping and tall teen made his way over to help as well. Studying the man, Bruce took in everything at once and immediately knew that this one was a leader, one who had a tough but understanding persona who could help anyone out of a tight spot.

His hair was light brown and he had the stubble of a former mustache above his lip, and underneath his white polo shirt Bruce noticed toned muscles that could only be achieved through top training. Over his polo was a letterman jacket for football, and his jeans were dark and old, with a few tears around the knees. Over his eyes were some quality prescription glasses, which seemed to add a manor of physique to him.

With Bruce helping him they gathered up the items and handed them to the nervous boy, who turned to them graciously.

"Thank you both very much. I apologize if I made you go out of your way. That's would be quite rude of me. Perhaps if either of you ever need help in your studies, I can tutor, and I . . . well you see I have a lot of experience with mechanics too so . . . he-he . . . anyway I thank you again, I had better get going. Oh, I'm Jarvis Tetch by the way."

"James Gordon. Call me Jim." The teen who helped Bruce asked, extending his hand, which Jarvis shook with sweaty palms.

"Bruce," Said Bruce simply while offering his own, which Jarvis again accepted before quickly hurrying off.

"So Bruce, quite a thing you did there helping out that Jarvis kid. By the way, I didn't catch your last name?" Jim asked.

Bruce hesitated. He still didn't know if his name would draw attention, and they were surrounded by many people. However Jim seemed like a quality person from all he had seen, so he decided to chance it.

"It's Wayne. Bruce Wayne." He stated simply.

"Wayne . . . Wayne of Wayne Enterprises?" Jim asked.

To This Bruce nodded, and Jim gave a chuckle.

"I knew your face looked familiar from somewhere. So, this your first day Bruce?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm just starting as a freshman."

"Alright. Well then, I had better wish you the best here at CGT High. It's crowded for sure but there are some good people here."

Jim noticed that Bruce really didn't respond so much as stay silent and nod, all the while scanning around.

"You alright in there Bruce?" Jim asked.

"Actually yeah . . . I'm fine. I guess I'm not what you call the world's most social person. So I guess I have a hard time talking some times."

"Really," Jim said, "Because I would have thought that someone who was raised around a big company and its events would have to be social to get along."

"Only when I want to be," Bruce responded with a small smile.

"Well hey, listen, you don't have to be the most social here but do yourself a favor and talk around a bit, get to know people, believe the last thing you want to be here is on your own. I know it can be nervous at first." Jim said convincingly.

"Especially when you're talking to the senior captain of the football team," Bruce said with a chuckle.

"How did you know that?" Jim asked a little surprised.

"Oh well you know your demeanor, your attitude, you walk, and the fact that your jacket acknowledges that you earned a letter in football for the past three years, for quarterback none the less."

"Guess that does give it away huh." Jim said with a smirk.

"Anyway," Jim went on, "I'm not sure if I'll see you often, what with me being a senior and you a freshman, but hey, if you ever need someone to talk to about school here you can meet me and the gang when we do after school counseling sessions with the counselors."

"Is that why you are doing this?" Bruce asked.

"Only partially," Jim responded, "I'm just a friendly person."

"Well, um, thanks," Bruce said quietly.

"Don't mention it," Jim said before noticing a group of his friends walk by, "And I'll see you later Bruce."

With that he walked off, and Bruce couldn't help but admire the qualities of Jim Gordon-polite and understanding, while also being formal. He would be a good one to be acquainted with, or even friends with, though Bruce thought he had little chance of befriending a senior, none the less a football captain, who was no doubt probably one of the most popular kids in CGT High.

Whatever else it was, it was a good start, and it was getting Bruce off on the right foot. Turning towards the old wooden clock that was posted on one of the upped ends of a wall, Bruce noticed that he still had ten minutes left before any of the classes started. About twenty feet away, teachers were handing out schedules to all students. Making his way over, Bruce found the line to be very long.

As he stepped into the line, Bruce tried to focus all his attention on getting his schedule. All the movement and commotion around him was making him nervous. Had it been a Wayne Enterprises event, he would feel fine and composed knowing that he knew the people there as well as how to properly act among the Gotham elite. But here, just as in middle school, which was a private school for him, it was more of an all-access every person for themselves.

Needless to say, this left Bruce on the defensive, and despite having met two seemingly nice people in Jarvis Tetch and Jim Gordon, he was unsure how to proceed.

"Don't like waiting in lines either?" Came a call from behind directed towards Bruce.

Turning, Bruce took into view a young man his age with a thoughtful face and tanned brownish-red curly hair. His eyes were deep and reflecting, but his stance was once of rugged firmness. His attire, consisting of a pair of cargo shorts with a plane white t-shirt under a brown-leather coat only furthered the appearance.

"I can wait," Bruce responded calmly.

"That's probably not the best way to start a conversation is it?" The teen replied with a chuckle as if to acknowledge he made a mistake.

"It's fine. I'm not one who knows much on conversation starters." Bruce replied with s friendly smile.

"Warren McGinnis is the name." The teen responded while extending his hand.

"Bruce Wayne," Bruce responded while taking the hand.

Initially, he was still worried about saying the last name, but it did not seem to matter to Jim much, so why should it to Warren?

"You must get asked a lot about the last name. You've probably heard this plenty of times, but you're the successor to Wayne Enterprises right?" Warren questioned.

"Yes, and I do get asked that a lot. It's something I don't usually go off about." Bruce responded.

"Indeed, I imagine so," Warren responded with a nod.

"You're an incoming freshman?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, hopefully I can be the first one in my family to do well in high school and receive a post-secondary education after my four years here. My family is not what you call the most 'well off' out there."

"I'm sorry." Bruce responded quickly.

Bruce couldn't help then but seem sad at that. Here he was, the next in line to a superior company, talking to a boy who came from struggling family from what appeared to be inner city Gotham.

"Hey no sweat," Warren responded with a jolly attitude, "Who in Gotham's these day is doing well? Not to take a stab at your company or any of the others, but no one in the city is really good condition wise in recent years. We're all in this same downward boat together."

"You sound sure like were going to fail," Bruce responded.

"Not necessarily. I find that if I look at the negatives of our situation, I can easier find the positives. True I don't have a lot of hope for this city in the next few years, but I believe with a few changes in the next decade we could see some real Improvement there."

"Spoken like a true politician." Bruce said.

"No, no," Warren stated with a chuckle, "I just want to be a help to people. My dad, he works for the Gotham Pluming Group, and before that he's worked odd jobs in the coal, steel, and railroad industries. He's what you call a blue-collar man. He taught me that anyone anywhere can do something, no matter how big or small it may be, to change the world."

Bruce kept the same friendly look on his face, but deep down, he was impressed. Not many could stand up and say what Warren had said, and that kind of attitude was just what he would be looking for when he inherited the company.

"It's a very respectful idea," Bruce commented as he realized he was the next in line.

"Your name son?" The woman who was handing out schedules asked nicely.

"Bruce Wayne," He responded, now having plenty of confidence that the name wouldn't attract attention.

He kindly took the schedule from the woman when irony seemed to play a cruel fate on him. Only about five seconds had passed since when he said his full name that it generated a high pitched response.

"Bruce! I had no idea that you were in public school!" Came the over-hyped voice of a young girl his age with red silky hair and a pair of fine reading glasses.

"Pamela Isley?" Brue spoke in a bit of disbelief.

"Of course Wayne. How could I be mistaken for anyone else?" She responded in a childish manner.

"It's just that, well, I figured you a private school gall," Bruce said confusedly.

"Well you know, with the big buyout we have gone through recently, daddy had to make some cutbacks, and I volunteered to come to public school-it's kind of a new challenge for me." She responded.

"This coming from the all Gotham science champion three years running." Bruce said with a smirk.

Pamela only smiled, when from behind him Bruce heard an "ahem". Turning to Warren, he noticed the teen taking interest in Pamela, looking over her in what appeared to be more than adoration. Suddenly Bruce realized what Warren was going through, and smiled, and then quickly turned back to Pamela.

"Pamela, may I introduce Warren McGinnis." Bruce said gesturing toward Warren as he walked forward.

"It's a pleasure Miss Isley, a real pleasure." Warren stated as if dumbstruck.

"Why thank you for your gallantry Mr. McGinnis. I'm, sure we'll be seeing each other around. Are you into any of the sciences?" She asked with sincerity.

Warren head quickly dropped, as if angered at himself, and then he responded, "No, I'm afraid I'm not much good at them."

"Don't worry," She said with a smile, "I'm sure there will be other things. Well I should be off. It was great to meet you Warren and I'm sure I'll be seeing plenty of you Bruce. I have to go early to the science department. Bye!"

With that, she was off, and from behind her Warren McGinnis just stared after in awe. Bruce could only smile. Warren would be far from the first to fall for Pamela Isley, as she had been courted and dated by many over the recent years. Yet Bruce could not blame him either. Bruce himself was not interested, but he had known Pamela for quite some time now, and he knew why everyone else was.

Pamela Isley was young, happy, a bit free spirited, and brilliantly smart. Her body was fine and her attitude peppy, and she was the kind of person to be around-the parties and events she often went too made sure that she had to be. But Pamela enjoyed her life, and by now she was used to being sought after, and she probably liked it, Bruce thought.

He didn't know if Warren had a shot at landing her, but Bruce did watch and snicker as Warren just stood there transfixed while the woman kept trying to get his attention to give him his schedule. Finally she gave a semi-loud shout and tugged at Warren shoulder, getting his attention. As he walked over to Bruce he still seemed transfixed.

"Man . . . That's a beautiful girl! And smart too, you think I'd . . ." He started to say before Bruce cut him off.

"You should be careful with those thoughts," Bruce said with a chuckle, "I'm not saying that you don't have a chance, but she is a sought after girl, and believe me when I say many of the kids our age from the private schools have tried to court her for years now. Expect some competition."

"For her, she might be worth it," Warren said with a small smile.

"You got any of my classes?" Bruce asked, changing the subject as he held out his schedule.

"Let's see," Warren responded as they held theirs next to each other.

"Looks like we have the same first period, as well as some later on in the day." Warren responded.

"Want to walk down to class?" Bruce asked.

Warren nodded, and together they turned down the long hallway. As they walked the halls, Bruce took in the feel and vibe of the school. The walls were made of old blocks covered in years of layers of paint. The lockers lining the halls were a slick black, and above them hung several posters, notices and fliers giving away general information about the school and its activities. Looking up at the unusually high ceiling, Bruce noticed the lights were a bit dim but still very luminous. Doors to the various rooms of the school were made of older wood with a fine white coat of paint over them.

To Bruce, it was a new environment, and what would represent his new challenge of a possible four years of schooling here. Of course maybe it wouldn't be so hard and Bruce knew it didn't have to be seen as a challenge, but for him it would be always be a challenge. That he knew people here was obvious-he had just met Pamela Isley. And he couldn't do worse with meeting Jarvis, Jim, and Warren.

"I'm doing what Alfred told me, making allies . . . wait . . . that's not right. Friends! I'm supposed to be making friends." Bruce said silently to himself.

As they approached the room, Bruce took note of the man who swung open the door to the classroom. He was tall but large in the waist, and his matted hair was going grey and disappearing at the top of his head. He did not have a look of satisfaction on his face, but Bruce could not guess why.

Entering the classroom, Bruce and Warren took adjoining seats. Bruce surveyed the commotion around him, but could make out no new faces he knew well. Sure some faces looked slightly familiar, but no one Bruce really knew. Warren seemed occupied by his own thoughts, but occasionally made conversation with a few of those around him. Bruce caught little of it, for he was still turning over the look the teacher at the door had given them when they walked in. Why had he had that look on his face? Was he disappointed with another year of teaching? Or was he new and not happy of his employment?

Bruce thoughts continued to wonder, but his thoughts were cut short when a sight he thought he'd never see again strolled into the room. Her hair was neatly trimmed, and the brown coloration reflected off the lights of the classroom. Her attire was well kept yet also stunning at the same time. The minute her eyes caught Bruce, he stopped dead still and felt his heart rise in his chest. Suddenly he could hear nothing but the own beat of his heart and he could swear his face was glowing different colors.

Never did he ever think he would ever set eyes on her again, not after what had happened, not after that mistake in his life. Yet here she was-the girl who was once his best friend and the girl he had thought he had loved long ago, when he hardly knew what romance meant. Before him stood a girl he held above any other friend, and then completely had lost after the horrid events of his cursed eight year of life.

Rachel Dawes was here, in the classroom.

Bruce Wayne simply did not know what to do. He just stared in disbelief. As Rachel made her way into the room she made small talk with some of the other seated girls, and then her eyes caught Bruce. She stopped for a moment, not really sure if she was seeing who she thought she was. Then, at realizing Bruce's dumbfounded look, she smiled and made her way over.

"Bruce Wayne," The words rolled of her tongue from the genuine smile on her face.

"Rachel Dawes, it's . . . it's been years . . .," Bruce stammered.

"Surprised to see me again? We didn't exactly leave off on the right note." She stated sympathetically.

"Yeah . . . look what I said all those years . . .," Bruce began before Rachel cut him off.

"Look Bruce, we were both really young, and we had a great friendship back then. I don't know, we were both eight Bruce, and you were going through stuff no one your age should. I know we ended up breaking our friendship and for you maybe something more, but I understand and while I said some harsh words that day, I don't hold much of a grudge now. Let's just out all those things go into the past . . . if you're willing to start over then, well, so am I."

Bruce took a minute to take it in, reflecting. Things had not ended well the last time he had seen Rachel Dawes. A family friend, Bruce had known Rachel since they were toddlers, for her mother was once a maid during the height of stately Wayne Manor. These days Bruce only had Alfred, and occasionally Winston, but in those day the house teemed with a staff of about ten well respected and well-meaning servants who Thomas Wayne made sure were treated right and paid very well.

Rebecca Dawes had been with the Wayne for many years before she gave birth to Rachel, but when she did the Wayne's instantly welcomed her presence. She was about the age of Bruce, so together as kids they grew up playing around Wayne manor and having the typical child adventures. While Bruce did meet and occasionally have other friends, Rachel was always the closest friend he could always talk to.

So it came rather unexpectedly to Rachel the behavioral change Bruce went through after the death of his parents. His happy attitude faded as he began to torture himself over what he believed was himself killing his parents. She watched as he blamed himself and turned down a dark road, and not soon later the anger came into factor. Sometimes the simplest of things would send him into a violent rage, and at times when Bruce wasn't looking it made Rachel cry.

Her heart went out to him for she too had been close to the Wayne's, and she knew that she could never feel the exact devastation that Bruce felt. As he became more and more frustrated with everything, she found herself oddly being torn apart from Bruce. With the Wayne's dead, Derek Powers had moved in to capitalize on controlling the company, and cutbacks were made that even reached Wayne Manor. Slowly the full time and part time staff of the Manor vanished, and Rebecca was the last to go.

Alfred, being Bruce's new guardian, was allowed to stay, and in those final days, Rachel knew she may see the last of Bruce. Once no longer employed at the manor, Rebecca would likely find work in another part of Gotham, and with Gotham being the large city it was, there was little chance Rachel would get ever more than a few glances at Bruce ever again. Determined not to leave Bruce the person he was at the time, Rachel decided to make the last few days count.

During those last times they spent almost every hour together, trying to recreate what Rachel saw they were losing-their friendship. Through their final adventures as kids, she began to see pieces of the old Bruce, and saw how they seemed to be not only rekindling their old friendship but the bond growing somewhat stronger.

On the last day before she was supposed to leave, Bruce had turned towards Rachel and asked, "So this is it, you're really leaving huh?"

"Bruce, you know I don't won't to go, but it has to be done, you know that. Every story had its end."

"But Rachel, I don't want you to leave. Can't . . . can't you stay. I know I'm not a really good person, and I've done things that I hate . . . myself for . . .," He had started to say.

"No Bruce, please, don't go back to thinking that, not again." She begged.

"But Rachel I," He paused as if trying to form words but could not do so.

"Hey, I know Bruce . . . Your always 'gonna be my best friend. But I have to go. I know how hard this is on you and . . . well I know how much you have been down on yourself lately, and that's why I tried to make these last days so memorable. After they died Bruce you stopped being you. You never went on anymore adventures with me, and we no longer spent Saturday mornings watching cartoons. You got mad at the weirdest things, and you just acted mean sometimes.

"I wanted so much to get the old you back before I left, so that's why I tried so hard to get our old friendship back up. I thought I saw some of the old Bruce, you know, 'Loosey Brucy'."

"Don't call me that. That's a child's name." Bruce said flatly.

"But you are still a child. Good gravy Bruce you're like, eight years old and so am I. I know growing up fast has everything to do with inheriting the company but were both still kids. Let's still have fun like this while we are still young. Please Bruce; just let me know that when I leave the old Bruce is going to show back up, because I miss my old friend."

"Then shouldn't you stay then, to help me change?" Bruce asked as his voice cracked.

"I wish I could Bruce, but we have to go, but hey, I'll still keep in touch. We'll definitely see each other again."

"Don't go Rachel," It was almost a whisper from Bruce.

Leaning over, Rachel softly kissed Bruce on the cheek, and said, "The Bruce I used to know was a rugged gentlemen who explored Wayne manor with his partner explored Rachel Dawes. We were the best of friends Bruce, never forget who you are. Remember the Bruce before that night."

"He's never coming back," Bruce said grimly as his eyes filled with tears.

Rachel signed, and realized a tear formed in her own eye.

"Then the Bruce I know is fading. So long once friend, if you see young Bruce Wayne around, tell him to keep in touch with me."

She then turned and began to walk down the path away from the manner, her eyes filling with tears. As she neared the corner she heard a call from Bruce.

"Rachel, you . . . you've always been there for me . . . besides my parents and Alfred, you are the only person I come to talk about my troubles. I think we have something great, but this-the death of my parents . . . it's killing me Rachel!" He shouted as the tears ran down his cheeks.

"I have been so lost Ray," He continued, "I have just been lost. And even when I barked and scolded you in my anger, you stuck by me. I have been nothing but crap to everyone lately and I should be. I'm a killer who disrespects the only close best friend I ever had."

"Bruce you are no killer, and you are one of the greatest people I know. Friends fight, and we have had ours. But I know you can pull through without me Bruce. For me, please, return to you old self."

"I need you Rachel . . . in my rejection I realized how I missed our friendship. I even thought if maybe . . . I 'dunno maybe there was even more?" Bruce stammered out.

With this, Rachel just stared plainly with sadness and regret.

"Bruce, were both eight . . . I don't think there could be anything like that. You are my closest friend, but I don't think that we were cut out for that. You have been going through so much . . . ," She started to say.

"And that's why I want you around Ray," He said quietly.

"All always be there for you Bruce, but were in no condition or age for that right now. Maybe somewhere down the road there may be something, but I'm your friend Bruce, you're closest. Don't ruin that by completely hiding you old self from the rest of the world." Rachel said.

"So you reject me, is that it? If you don't want anything more Rachel, then . . . okay I can deal with stuff like that . . . but I need you around. Don't leave me like my parents did. If you do it will be by my own doing, and I can't cause myself anymore pain. I don't want to cause anyone else to be dragged out of my life." Bruce responded.

"Bruce I won't be out of your life! I will always be there for you. I promised you I would do whatever to keep in touch. We can always hook up somewhere." Rachel pleaded.

"Lies! We both know that you will end up going to somewhere in Gotham that I haven't been or won't be able to go because I'm getting set up to take over a million dollar cooperation. I have to be a businessman now! I have a legacy! And I won't have much time for friends anymore." He shouted with anger rising in his voice.

"Then don't be that person Bruce! Be yourself and we can make time and stay in touch. Stop isolating yourself from your best friend and the rest of the world!" She retorted back.

"You're not responsible for the death of your parents!" Bruce screamed at her.

"They were some of the closest things to family I ever had! You know how close friends our families were!" She said while stating her ground.

"Then don't go! Have your mom stay here with her job!" He shouted.

"You think she want to leave Bruce? She cried her eyes out when she heard she had to give it up. She has worked here for over ten years! I don't want to leave Bruce, but we are being forced to. Mr. Powers is forcing changes at the company, and with your folks gone he calls the rules. That's why I have to leave!" she shouted back.

Then, in a moment of horror, Rachel realized what she said. She had not said anything bad, but didn't anticipate Bruce's reaction to how his parents died. If she said that the death of his parents was why Powers got to break up the staff, then that would mean her leaving was all the fault of Thomas and Martha Wayne's death, and since Bruce blamed himself for their death, then he would all consider it his fault.

"So this is it then . . . I caused my life to fall apart." Bruce said in a flat tone with no emotion.

Rachel immediately tried to say something, but was cut off.

"I have doomed myself . . . great . . . well then bye Rachel. You should just get out before I do worse to you. Get away from me while you still can. I don't want any reminder of my doings."

"Bruce, please," Rachel began to plead.

"Go Rachel. Get out. The Bruce Wayne you knew is dead-he only leads to bad things. That Bruce Wayne is gone. So just get out. I want to put this behind me." Rachel's heart broke as she heard to devastation in his voice barely masked by the rush of sobs coming from his eyes.

"Bruce . . ." She started to say quietly.

"Get out Rachel! Go away and don't . . . don't . . . just leave! To you Bruce Wayne might as well be dead. He is gone Rachel! He is lost forever!" He screamed at the top of his lungs while his face grew red with heavy sobs.

Rachel stood there, heartbroken and weeping herself, and quietly said, "You know Bruce, I was wrong. The Bruce I know isn't fading, he's dead, just like you said. And taking his place is a miserable old shell that had lost all the goodness of life because he won't stop blaming himself or controlling his anger. Goodbye forever Mr. Wayne. If you ever see the Bruce I once called the best friend anyone could have, tell him he might be too late."

With that Rachel took off down the path weeping, and Bruce stormed back into Wayne Manor with a face livid red full of fury. Turning to a bust by the door, he swung with his best hand, knocking it down to the ground and shattering it all over the tile floor. He screamed at nothing and whined as if a child while he stomped into the ground.

Climbing the stairs, he looked down in disgrace and said, "Bruce Wayne, you are just a wreck-no good to anyone or anything. You had to turn Rachel away like that. You already broke your friendship with her leaving, and if you want to atone for that you have to let the past go and put everything into a new future of running Wayne Enterprises. She can be free of you now, and live better; she won't have to suffer the fate of mom and dad.

"She will go on to be successful in something, and you can change the future in Wayne Enterprises. It's the right thing to do Bruce."

The tears then started to dry from his face, and with a great depression rising in him, he said to himself, "I wish it just didn't hurt this much. I just wish that that night could have gone differently . . . then they would all still be in my life . . ." His words faded into nothing.

Bruce shuddered silently on thinking back to that day now, and looked at Rachel with a true look of regret on his face.

"Okay Rachel," He said, "We should put it behind us. But, you know, if you ever have any free time, could I explain to you why I acted the way that day? I understand if you never want to have to have anything to do with me ever again."

"Don't even think it Bruce," She responded genuinely, "We may have some patching up to do, but I'm willing to try and fix the friendship."

"That's sounds fine." Bruce said with a smile back, and watched as she walked away.

"Well, you're quite the popular guy." Warren commented next to him.

"Far from it Warren. Just a few people I've met over the years." Bruce responded.

Their attention was then turned to the teacher, who took his stance in the middle of the classroom and addressed the students while the bell rang.

"Students, please have a seat, and prepare to take notes. My name is Professor William McElroy, former Egyptologist of Yale University, and while my teaching dwells here in Gotham and no longer at the collegiate level, do not think that it will be any easier a class to understand. I am not a mean teacher, but I do expect everyone to do their best work here in my class every day.

"This course for this period is ancient world history. On top of studying ancient Egypt later on second semester, we will cover several others, from ancient North American civilizations all the way to the great empires of China, and finally the Greeks and Romans. Of course, given my field was originally on Egypt, I will occasionally offer projects, extra credit, and even a field trip early this year to acquaint you all better with the culture. Any questions?"

No one had any, so the Professor went on to further discuss class regulations. As he did, Bruce realized why he had seemed slightly familiar as well as why their teacher had had a sort of disgruntled look on his face when Bruce first walked in. William McElroy was a name he knew well. Several of Wayne Enterprises best employees in their science department as well as some from their marketing and literature division came from Ivy League schools, and thus several fundraisers and events were held with the schools. Bruce himself had even been introduced to McElroy a few times in his youth, but that was so long ago and it was nothing more than a simple hello.

Bruce doubted that the professor recognized him, and he for sure had not recognized McElroy at first, but Bruce knew what he was capable of. He was a genius at Yale, or so Bruce had been told, and his lectures were legend even to the smartest minds. Bruce had heard a few years back that he was no longer at Yale, but he never paid it much mind.

The rest of the period was relatively uneventful for Bruce. He did not recognize anyone else in the classroom, but was sure he would know at least a few more people in the school. Warren certainly listened during the professor's lecture, but Bruce noticed that he seemed to be somewhere else in terms of getting it all in his head. Warren had already stated that he was no major at science, and Bruce could tell he wasn't one for long historical lessons either.

Of course that was who Warren was, and Bruce simply understood it. This school would be full of personalities that were vastly different and challenging, but then again, the same could be said about running Wayne Enterprises.

"Great," He muttered silently to himself, "I'm already analyzing as if I were the head of the company. Even if that is the goal . . . perhaps I should start off slower, like Alfred suggested."

By the time the bell range Bruce had fully absorbed all he could out of the teacher and the class. As he rose with Warren to leave the room he caught another glance at Rachel as she left, and she lifted her hand in a soft waive. Bruce returned it, leading to questioning stares from the Rachel's friends that were with her. At the door Warren turned to him.

"Guess I see you around Bruce. Want to meet up at lunch?" He questioned.

"That's sounds fine. See you then." Bruce responded in a low but satisfied voice.

Glancing down at his schedule, he headed up the first flight of stairs to his math class, not giving a glance behind him as he went. Had he have, he would have caught the questioning glance of Professor McElroy as he left. Indeed, McElroy was indeed intrigued by the young Wayne.

He himself had been in good terms with Wayne enterprises awhile back, when Yale University had strong ties to the cooperation. They had offered to fund even one of his research trips to Egypt on the grounds that their head scientists go with them to investigate a strange plant material found near a few of the dig sites the professor wished to check out.

Of course that was all before his fallout as the head of Egypt studies at Yale. He remembered very well the awful fallout of that time, and the hate he still lugged around because of it.

It had been not more than eight years ago when he was at the peak of his career. His findings in Egypt were brought to museums across the world, and the profit he pulled in was enough for him to finance a small mansion. But for McElroy, he really could have cared less about the money. For him, it was the prestige and knowledge that drove him to further his study.

His greatest find had come in a lost site near the Great Pyramids, where he found a nearly mummified piece of cloth with various patterns and shades. Upon further inspection by Wayne Enterprises scientists, they theorized that the shades once used to reflect different colors. It was then that McElroy came to what he considered a startling discovery. He thought that the mummified color patterned cloth he found was the Technicolor Coat that Joseph had worn from the book of Exodus.

This theory was heavily debated by everyone from religion majors to lead scientists all around not just the country but the world. Regardless of whether people believed it or not, it attracted much attention towards McElroy and his studies, and boosted funding. McElroy himself, however, wanted to insult not person or belief, and he was very neutral in his finding of the cloth. He particularly recalled one question from a reported that he had answered sincerely.

"Is it true you really have found the coat?" The reporter had asked.

"Well, I would like to believe so, but I understand that there's a chance it might not be. It is just an assumption, and I fully respect the beliefs of other towards what anyone thinks it is. Either way, it is an interesting find and can hopefully continue the work of Egyptologists everywhere. So I am not saying that it is-it's simply an assumption."

That finding made him the top Egyptologist in the country, until fresh out of Wayne Enterprises Science division came a researcher by the name of Lank Downey. While from the science division, Lank was just entering the field of history, but his background in science helped him to prove the theories and finding he started to make in ancient world civilizations. He quickly began to favor the study of Egypt over other ancient civilizations, and soon himself went on expeditions in Africa.

When there he found a bountiful harvest of treasures and scrolls left by the higher ups in Egyptian society, which quickly gained attention. Instead of bringing these back however, he opted to keep them there and simply take pictures and videos, leaving the finds where they were. Though this upset some, it garnered praise from everyone from locals to Egyptologists across the world.

Coming back to America, he was being hailed as the next best thing in the study of the ancient world, and was even put on the cover of _TIME_ magazine, not only for his findings but for the way he handled them. Like many others in his profession, McElroy was excited for the find, but he himself worried of the new fame Downey was attracting. He too had congratulated Downey on the finds. But all the while he wondered if his run as the best in the business was running thin.

This would be put to the test when less than a year later he was out up to a series of debates with Downey, in which both took opposite sides on heavy issues in the field. McElroy was shocked at how Downy not only proved his own theories, but how vigorously he debunked McElroy's. Of the five debates that they had, Downey took four, with McElroy only winning one by a bare margin when Downey appeared to be physically tired and sick.

These debates caused the community to shift more towards Downey, and while they still very much listened to and respected McElroy's ideas, Downey himself was becoming the forerunner for their profession. McElroy then watched as major contributors to his expeditions and studies, including Wayne Enterprises, shifted to Downey and his studies.

Slowly but surely, jealousy consumed McElroy, and he began to notice his own students debating his very own ideas with that of Downey's. While McElroy had always supported students questioning and debating the views of what was being taught, the sheer number of times Downey was brought up caused the professor to turn red and bark at his students, which began to catch the eye of the college's president.

The biggest blow however, came with the annual award ceremony and show for the Historical World Studies Honors, which had begun in Star City over fifty years ago. At the event, the top honor was that of lead professor for every era, and Downey was hands down the choice for ancient world. What aggravated McElroy the most however was that he was excluded from those honored for the field of Egyptology. His constant jealousy of Lang had led to his work taking a downturn, and the problems he was having with his students was leading to others withholding information and funds from him.

Finally, McElroy could not take his decline anymore. It had taken Downey but a year and a half to completely take over all the dreams of McElroy. Deciding that he himself could surpass what Downey had achieved, he decided to sabotage. A year ago he would have never considered such a thing, but at this point all he could think about was regaining his glory.

It was a cold night in Metropolis on January 21, the night that McElroy set up his sabotage plan. He had told himself weeks before that he was in way over his head doing this, but at the moment he did not care. At that night a shipment of artifacts was arriving at the great Metropolian Museum, including a few small finds from Egypt Downey had found which the locals had generously allowed him to take from Egypt.

Along with it that night came several minor blocks and repair pieces that were being used to upgrade the second story of the museum. Keeping that in mind, McElroy's plan was simple-while several workers used the construction shipments to rebuild the building; he would sneak to the less heavily guarded artifact shipments.

That night, he crept around the museum to the shipments, and he waited until it looked like he had his best chance. Sneaking up, he miraculously was not seen by the guards as he grabbed a box that was labeled Egyptian Artifacts: Downey. Grabbing the box, he sprang away just as some of the security guards saw him. Darting through the dark streets of Metropolis, he hurried to a dark corner where he could examine the artifacts.

As he began prying the box open, it occurred to him that he had no idea what he would do with the artifacts.

"Who knows," He had mumbled angrily to himself, "I'll sabotage or something like that."

It took him a good few minutes, but finally he pried open the box. Breathing heavily and feeling triumph rising in his chest, he tore into the box to find the artifacts and was horrified at what he found, for within the box were no artifacts, but various sorts of hammer and drill nails. Then the startling realization hit him-this box must have been mislabeled! Instead of stealing artifacts, he stole meaningless construction supplies. In his shock and fury he then did the one thing he should not have done.

"No! No! That is not possible! No!" He screamed in his loud booming voice, not even thinking of the noise he was making.

Unfortunately for him, that noise alerted the guards right to him. The guards themselves easily apprehended McElroy, but were stumped that somebody would want to steal nails. They knew this would not warrant to much of an offense, and when checking in with the DA and the local courts, they found all they could charge him for was simple theft, and his four months jail times could be easily avoided with a decent fine, especially considering he had nothing else criminal on his record.

News of the event spread quickly when researchers and the staff at Yale University found out. Most people just said that McElroy was going crazy and the stunt was for attention, but some of the higher ups at the college knew just what was going on, for they had learned of McElroy's envy of Downey long ago.

So when they called McElroy in for a certain meeting after he paid the fine, they knew what they were going to do. The head of the meeting had been every blunt with McElroy, and wanted to get to the point.

"McElroy, we all know you well enough to know you were not really trying to steal construction tools that night. We know you were out to do something related to Downey's artifacts, are we right?"

McElroy tried to deny it, but he knew he could not succeed in doing so, and soon gave in and admitted his crime.

"We were worried about this McElroy," The staff member had said, "You have gone over the top trying to upstage Downey. We understand that he has grown quite popular in the field over the past year or so, and understand that he has disproved a few of your theories, but we still greatly respected you and felt confident of your teaching ability here. However, we no longer believe this is so.

"You have had several verbal and even one physical confrontation with you students when they have quoted Downey, and you have put fewer work with every day into you studies. We have a mountain of complaints from students and parents alike, and now you have committed a crime! What's next McElroy? I'm sorry but there is something we must do."

"No," McElroy barley stuttered out, knowing what would come next, "Please I beg you anything but that- I'll change!"

"Professor McElroy, one behalf of this University by a unanimous vote, your fired." The staffer responded.

"No! You can't! This is my life!" McElroy has screamed.

"Not anymore McElroy. There was a time we really had faith in you, and that time has since passed. We are now confident that our next teacher of Egyptology will have much more success." The Staffer said sadly but firmly.

"Oh," McElroy's desperation was turning to rage, "And who might that be?"

"He means me McElroy." Came a voice that McElroy had come to hate.

The voice came from Lank Downey who had just entered the room, with a depressed look on his face.

"You!" McElroy shouted as he rose from his seat, to which two security officers quickly rose to restrain him of necessary.

"Professor, please, why do you hate me?" Lank offered sympathetically.

"Ever since you came along, my research has gone nowhere. You proved me wrong whenever we met, and people I considered close started to follow you instead. Funding went out the door, and I got so broke I could not even get another expedition to Egypt! No one even showed up to my last public lecture, and all my students hate me now and consider you the next best thing after the president." McElroy said in anger.

"Please professor, I never meant you any harm. Yes I disagreed with some theories, but that's what we do. I know you yourself have proven several people wrong during your time, and you finds in our field are just as important as anything I will ever find. You have influenced so many in our field, including me."

"Then why are you taking my job?" McElroy gritted out through his teeth.

"I . . . I . . ." Downey searched for an answer.

"Professor McElroy that is enough! I will not have you berating our new teacher, now go get your things and be out of the classroom in a week. Good day." The staff member said leaving the room.

Slowly everyone trickled out, with Downey the last to leave, a look of being lost on his face.

"I'm so sorry . . . I never meant to hurt you in any way. If you ever need anything . . ." He started to say.

"Nothing from you," McElroy said as he closed his eyes and lowered his head.

With nothing more to say, Downey gathered his things and left the room, leaving McElroy alone as the lights went out. One week later, Lank Downey had the teaching job at Yale University, while McElroy was out on the streets, looking for a job.

Years later, here he was, sitting at CGT High with a minor teaching job. Not that it was not nice, indeed the pay was very nice and he still enjoyed teaching, but not a day passed when he did not wish for his job and life back that he had before Lank Downey came along. He tried to avoid ever hearing about Downey since, and secluded himself to his studies, vowing to reclaim what he lost those years ago.

Now looking after Bruce Wayne leave his class, all those memories flooded back, and put him in a silent state. Did the young Bruce know one of his associates from his funders? Probably, so maybe he could talk to Bruce and see if he could meet up with any of them.

"No, probably should not do that," He thought, "Focus on teaching, and you can get back there eventually."

Three hours later, Bruce Wayne walked to lunch more exhausted that he thought he could be. It was not physical exhaustion that got to him, but mental. His math class has pushed the brink of his calculating skills, and it was only day one. His next two classes focused on computer design and chemical studies, and to say he fully understood everything was a lie. It made Bruce stop and think that all of these topics would be major parts of running the company and he would be in no shape to do so, he realized, were he not to complete these classes in school.

Lunchtime found him sitting beside Warren in the schools unusually large courtyard, where a few rare oak trees grew amidst tanned green grass and a few hedges lining the sides. The spot they chose was a shaded bench next to a small garden, and as they sat down a though came to Bruce.

Warren began small talk quickly at Bruce, and for the next ten minutes they had a steady conversation. After first talking about their classes, Warren spoke more on his family and the financial problems they faced in the Gotham market, especially with the recent inflation that was taking the city by storm. Bruce mentioned a few things about his company but restrained from speaking about his past.

"So Bruce, are you interested in doing anything here?" Warren asked simply.

"I honestly don't know. I never planned on it or wanted it originally, but now I might change. I suppose if the right opportunity comes up I will take it." Bruce responded.

"Fair enough. My games baseball-it's kind off in the family. I don't really think varsity is an option for me right now, but I might make the junior squad. My hope is . . ." Warren trailed off before stopping midsentence.

Bruce didn't look up to see what stopped him, for he was already pretty sure what it was. Raising his head, he guessed right, because Pamela Isley was only a few feet away.

"High Bruce, Warren," She said cheerfully.

"I, uh, I, um . . . high?" Warren stumbled out of his mouth.

"Hello Pam," Bruce said with a smile.

"Sorry to bother you both, but have either of you seen my friend Shirley around-she about five foot four with red-blonde hair?"

Suddenly a harsh feminine scream cut through the air.

"Fight! It's Ramirez and the new kid!"

"That's her," She signed, "I never understood her love of watching people fight."

Sure enough, a large crowd had gathered with Shirley to watch two boys square off in a small circle. Bruce was not one for fights, but he was regrettably curious, and Warren had already dashed over to the scene. Between the screaming and shouting, Bruce and Warren nudged their way towards the front of the circle, where Bruce could observe the two fighters.

One stood at an impressive six foot three with a trimmed but defined body that looked equal to that of an MMA fighter. He had ruffled black hair and the slight hint of a shaved mustache above his face. Facing him was an unruly looking kid in a grey torn hoody with the hood covering his forehead. The sleeves were rolled up, and his jeans clung to his midsection, held by a tight belt with a silver buckle. A pair of Nike Air Jordan's were fitted to his feet, and he had a chain coming out of his pocket.

This was one far more lanky and thin, and only slightly above six feet. From the talk he was having with his opponent, it appeared to Bruce that the smaller one was the aggressor of the fight, but it only took one look at his opponent to know that the aggressor stood no chance.

"I'd recommend that you not do this," The taller one said with an undertone of anger and evil.

"Shut it! They say your tough Ramirez-I'm 'gonna prove you wrong when I flatten you out across the pavement!" The aggressor shouted.

"There's a reason I run this school," Ramirez growled.

The aggressor needed to say no more, and he quickly swung from his midsection a punch to the head of Ramirez. Side swiping, Ramirez took a step forward and set a punch right at the aggressor's chin. With a cry of pain, his opponent stepped back, and drew back his hand for a punch. As he did so Ramirez quickly swooped in, and grabbed the drawn back arm with one hand and used the other to repeatedly hit his opponent's stomach.

"A lesson for you weakling, never draw back the fist, it lets you opponent know your moves, and certifies you as pathetic!" Ramirez growled.

The aggressor crumbled down to the pavement as soon as the barrage of punches stopped, making no sound. Watching him fall Ramirez laughed, and spit on the ground in front of his opponent, and turned on his heels to walk away. Believing the fight to be over the crowd began to disperse, but Bruce turned back to look at the fallen boy, and what he saw shocked him.

The boy began to struggle on the ground, vigorously shaking his body as if like an animal. Then, just as Ramirez was about to leave the courtyard, the aggressor let out a scream like that of an injured panther, and leaped up and sprang right for Ramirez.

"I will destroy you!" He screamed at the top of his lungs as he lunged toward Ramirez.

Turning, Ramirez was surprised at how quickly his opponent ran up to him, and was then startled as he pounced right onto Ramirez. Clinging to his skin as if it were Velcro, his opponent tried to send his fingers towards his face, but Ramirez sent a quick jab to his face, flinging him back to the ground.

Ramirez then readied himself and the boy got up again, and then leaped on him again. This time Ramirez ducked to avoid the jump, and then caught his feet and shot him out towards the grass. Again the boy got up, as if determined to bring Ramirez down, and jumped again. Starting to see a pattern, Ramirez caught his opponent at the midsection and heaved him above his head, all the while his opponent tried to grab his face with his hands.

Once above his head, Ramirez carried the boy over to a trash can, and dumped him in. In the crowd, some were amazed at what they were seeing, but Bruce noticed other who simply shook their heads and tried not to look. Some cheered, other stayed silence, but Bruce noticed that no one tried to calm the fighters or stop the fight.

"Shouldn't I?" Bruce thought aloud silently.

After all, he could try and stop the fight, but was it worth it? The person who started the fight clearly was getting what was coming to him-he instigated the fight. But still, this was brutal fighting, something Bruce had never seen at his private schools, and the styles of fighting made him think of the kind of fighting done in the Gotham alleys and streets. The places where his parents were killed . . .

Shouldn't he try and stop it? Then again, he reminded himself, that's what he thought he should to when he was caught by Joe Chill. If he tried to intervene now he would only make things worse, at least that was what he was telling himself now. Yet somehow it didn't sit right in his heart or his gut, and as Bruce watched something told him his parents would not approve of just standing by. Then again, neither of them are here because of him, at least he thought, so perhaps it was better to stay out. It was not a case of bullying or theft, just a test of who was tougher.

Turning his attention back up to the fight, Bruce saw that the aggressor was rising from the trash bin, with an animalistic-like rage in his eyes.

"Is it just me Bruce or does he look crazy?" Warren whispered.

Bruce himself could not answer, for what he saw next made him stop still. The aggressor rose from the trash bin and again charged at Ramirez, but by now Ramirez had realized that every time he tried to knock his foe down, he would get back up. So this time, when his opponent got to him, one of Ramirez's hands reached out to grab a pressure point on the boy near his shoulder, and the second he got a firm hold of it the boy stopped.

His opponent could not move, and Ramirez just held him there, all the while as his opponent's nostrils flared and his eyes seemed to dance like fire. Then he used his other hand to grip the other point, and then while gripping both points, raised the aggressor above his head. And for what must have been a minute, Ramirez held him there. About thirty seconds in, administrators and teachers stormed out into the courtyard to see what was going on, and instantly they approached to apprehend both men, but they were stopped short by the call of the vice principle.

"Let him be held there for a minute. He is not harming the boy, just calming him down. Ramirez here is actually not fighting someone for once; he's actually stopping it peacefully." He said.

Stunned by his words, they all reluctantly obeyed, but after a while saw that the Vice Principle was right. After another two more minutes, the eyes of the aggressor closed, and he slumped in the hands of Ramirez. Some became terrified and cried out, but then Ramirez calmly set the passed out kid on the ground and walked away slowly. Administrators and Faculty quickly rushed towards Ramirez, but again the Vice Principle cut them off.

"He's not going anywhere. Believe me, we'll get to talk to him later. Right now we have a school to run and classes to teach-the bell is about to ring."

The entire crowd that was gathered to watch the fight was stunned, and they quickly scattered, while a few went up close to investigate the unconscious body of the aggressor. Bruce, Warren, Shirley, and Pamela were all among that group.

"Gosh, what was with this guy? He acted as if he was determined to take down Ramirez." Warren commented.

"Is he on something?" Someone asked.

"Who knows, but dang was he creepy-I never saw anyone attack like that." Shirley responded.

"Kids we need to ask you to step away from him. We need to get him on a stretcher," Said one of the approaching campus policemen, "We already called an ambulance."

"Something about him just seems way off," Warren said.

Bruce considered this for a moment, and then looked over at Pamela. Her face was white, and she had the look of a slight fear in her face. Was she scared by what she was in the fight? Bruce thought on this as they loaded the boy onto the stretcher, and as they did so one of the girls in the group gasped and pointed a finger at the boy, who mouth now hung open to reveal a set of glowing orange teeth.

Several disgusted signals came from the group, who could not bear to look at the glowing and starting to rot teeth. Bruce was appalled himself by the sight, but he noticed that Pamela was not so much disgusted as now even more frightened. The officers where too surprised by the sight, but continued with their jobs, perhaps too much so, for they failed to see a small clump of something wrapped in plastic wrap fall out of his hoodie pocket.

No one seemed to notice it, for all their attention was focused on the teeth. Bruce himself only caught a glimpse of it on the last second, and at the same moment saw Pamela quickly stuff the item into her pocket and checking to see that no one saw.

Bruce was surprised that she would go to the trouble of trying to hide it, but he knew it might be best not to get involved in that yet. With the boy on the stretcher, they put him into the ambulance and drove off. Then the group completely scattered, even Warren, who needed to get to his next class.

"I'll see you in last period," he said with a wave as he left for the school, leaving Bruce alone in the spot of the fight.

He knew the warning bell would ring any moment to tell everyone two minutes until the next class, but the way the Administrators handled the fight and the fight itself baffled Bruce.

"Why didn't they try and stop it?" He wondered aloud.

"Because the fight involved Floyd Ramirez, and any fight with him involved is a special case." Came a response from behind.

Turning, Bruce found himself facing Jim Gordon.

"What do you mean Jim?" Bruce asked.

"Listen, I don't really have the time to tell you here. Do you have like two minutes after school?"

"Sure, I guess," Bruce replied with a shrug.

"Good, meet me by the entrance right after last hour, and I'll try to quickly explain-I got football practice shortly afterwards."

"Alright, but why are you telling me this Jim?" Bruce questioned.

"Because Bruce your new here, and given your situation, Floyd Ramirez may just be a problem for you and you really don't want to be on his bad side-I hate to see him try anything on you. I got to go, remember to meet me by the entrance." Jim responded as he walked off.

As Bruce watched him walk off, he realized he was filled with too many questions and not many answers-Why had the boy acted strangely? What did he have to worry from Floyd Ramirez? What was it the Pamela tried to tuck away? Why was Jim Gordon being like this too him? And why should he care for any of these things-Wasn't his plan to just take the classes and get them over with so he could run the company? Why did he think so hard on all of these things, wanting to know the answers so bad?

"Well, one things for sure," Bruce said to himself as he walked towards the school and his next class, "This sure was quite the way to start my first day here at CGT High. And I thought running a company would be easy . . ."

**Authors Note: Hey Everyone I Apologize of the Really late Update on the story. Check out my profile for the Full Update on not just Into The Night but all of my stories.**


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